Whispers in the Dark
by AwesomeGizmo
Summary: Washington is grieving Hamilton's loss, and finds himself unable to cope on his own. However, with the help of his loving wife he may just be able to get through this, his wife that is, and Alexander himself...


**A.N: Alright lemme tell you all a thing, this story took me so /fucking long/ to write. Like it's been rewritten four times, I've stared at this one conversation for what feels like hours, trying to make words appear in my head that wouldn't appear. Long story short, this chapter is definitely not up to par with where I would like it to be, and it's shorter than before, in fact, I really don't think it's all that good. However, I wanted to publish /something/ and feel like you've been waiting long enough. Plus, it's Christmas, so what the hell?**

 **(I've really no right to say /this/ fandom has been waiting a long time, not when my Sherlock story hasn't been updated in over a year, but oh well. Y'all were more supportive ;) I'm rewarding you.)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hamilton and all rights go to their respective owners. I acknowledge that this story is in no way historically accurate, and disclaim so here.**

* * *

John Laurens glanced around at the carnage surrounding him and thought _'How could this have happened?'_

Mere hours ago he had been resting peacefully, hungry yes, surrounded by a war and death yes, but in good company with the other aides and warm in his bed. Hours later he'd killed a man, Gilbert was nursing a wound to his leg, and Alexan-

Alexander was dead.

His best friend; killed.

And he'd done nothing to stop it; done nothing while his best friend was tortured, was murdered, they'd said that Alexander had fought to the very end. Where was he while he endured all of that?

 _The flash of the steel above his head_

 _The ripping of the fabric of his cot_

 _The grunts and crashes of the struggle resonating throughout the tent_

 _The weight of his assailant pinning him to the ground_

 _Gilbert's cry of pain, the redcoat's dagger protruding from his thigh_

 _The sound as flesh was torn, a fine red spray coating everything near_

John was not blind to the fact that he was nearly killed; far from it. But he'd been saved from his attack, saved by the gunshot that he'd later found out had come from the struggle between Alexander and the other spies. Funny how even when he was dying Alexander had found a way to look out for his friends.

He, on the other hand, was useless. What good could he do the army when he couldn't even protect himself? He would have died by the hand of his attacker if Gilbert hadn't been roused by the gunshot, if Gilbert hadn't aided him and for his efforts gain a debilitating wound to his leg that could have easily been as fatal as Alexander's.

A few tears slipped past his cheeks. No one would fault him for this moment of weakness, would they? No, they wouldn't. Even now, hours later, he could hear in his mind's eye Washington's sobs coming from inside the tent, a merciless echo in his skull. He could still hear the gut wrenching wail that had escaped the man, torn out of him by pure grief.

He hadn't been allowed in. Hamilton would not have wanted him to see him in such a state, so they'd said.

'But what if he wakes up?' He'd replied. But no, Alexander had died in Washington's arms back inside his quarters, and was merely a breathing corpse by the time they'd brought him back to the healing tents.

"John. Come with me now, it would be wise for you to return to a tent. The Marquis de Lafayette and Officer Mulligan expressed their desire that you be in companionship at this time."

Burr. Ever the stable one. How fitting that he be the one to collect him; he'd been Alexander's friend too, hadn't he? How could he be so callous, so unaffected?

When he was taken to the tent, not his tent, but a tent, (he supposed that his comrades did not want to take him back to where Alexander slept) with Gilbert and Heracles waiting for him.

They'd cried together, it hadn't taken long before each broke, desperately clasping onto the arms of the other, their foreheads resting against each other as their whole bodies shook with the grief of the night.

He could not remember ever seeing his friends in such a state before; nor after for that matter.

When they'd composed themselves drinks were poured, and all three men sat silently in eerie calm. In a way, they had no more emotion left to lose. They doubted they would ever be able to _feel_ the way they had before again.

 _I may not live to see our glory_

 _But I will gladly join the fight…_

Lost in his memories John raised his glass, a broken whisper slipping past his lips.

"To the story of tonight."

* * *

 _"I'll tell you what's happening Washington!"_

 _"I was dead the moment they roused me!"_

 _"I am more than willing to die!"_

 _"Fight Alexander! Please don't go…"_

 _"It hurts, it hurts… Oh God, make it stop!"_

 _"As you wish, Your Excellency, I suppose I can join you for a drink."_

Washington suddenly jerked up, taking a long ragged breath in an effort to quell the assault of memories on his mind.

He'd had his moment of grief. The army couldn't afford more.

Shaking his head Washington glanced down at his desk, Hamilton's neat handwriting was scrawled throughout it over correspondences and missives alike. He didn't want to send them; they were precious now. The last remaining part of his son. The last works of a genius who could've won the war for them.

The world would never be the same. How was he to go on without him? Without him they would surely be lost…

They were still cleaning the blood from the other room. He'd have to write the condolence letters for the men who'd died for him. He didn't care what was done with the scum that had taken Alexander from him. Alexander could've done the fallen men justice in his letters, George did not know if he could. Did Alexander need a condolence letter? Was there anybody out there that would miss him?

Besides his friends on site, of course.

And himself. It was a perfect Hell on Earth to give someone children to love, and adore, and then take them away.

Yet the time for grief was over, there was so much work to do; his men needed him to be strong. There was more at stake than his well-being, there was a war, a country, that depended on his ability to be their foundation.

Straightening the future leader of the free world schooled his features and emotions. There was none more dedicated to freeing America than Alexander.

And he was going to win this war for him.

* * *

George Washington sat silently at his desk and listened to the scratching of quills against parchment, his aides diligently slaving over his correspondences; perhaps too far into the night. He supposed that he should be too, but there were some days when he just felt so _tired_.

Martha's presence at the camp was welcome, it helped. She'd arrived little more than two weeks after Alexander… after Alexander had passed.

She'd been so fond of him, and had known of George's affections for the boy. His wife hadn't hesitated in immediately making the trip to the base camp after receiving the news.

There was broken air to him when he'd embraced her upon arrival, and kissed her head with a weak assurance for her behalf, yet he himself had appeared unaffected. A facade that she'd known to be false.

She stayed at the camp now, fussing over the men and over her husband, all the while waiting for the moment that it would all come pouring out; she'd lost children too, and George had felt that loss with her. It was her turn to support him now.

After his step-children George had doubted, vowed to her even, that he would never love a child the way he did them again, and it had never been a problem.

Perhaps this made it all the more heartbreaking.

"What ails the thoughts of General Washington today?" Martha whispered beside his ear, placing a delicate hand upon his shoulder. George took it in his own and began to rub small circles against her palm, his words coming like an amused sigh.

"What ails the thoughts of General Washington any day my dear? Shouldn't you know by now?"

"Perhaps. Will you come to bed with me tonight? The war will still be here in the morning."

"I dare not make that assumption, Martha. The night that I come to rest is most probably the night that a great catastrophe comes to pass."

"Nonsense. Send the men away if you will, they've more than earned their right to rest."

"That they have."

"Yet you know they are too loyal to retire before his Excellency himself does as well. Can't your work rest a moment?"

"That's like asking the sun to stop its rise in the morning, darling."

"I will ask the sun to stop its rise if I thought it may do the sun some good. Please George, come to bed tonight."

"I am able to deny you nothing Martha, I will come up." She broke into a smile, and it was almost worth the mounds of work he would need to catch up on in the morning. Why, if Alex-

With a quick kiss on the cheek she'd retreated towards their personal chambers, and he was left alone with his thoughts. It was a dangerous thing that, it led to dangerous thoughts and happy memories turned painful through loss.

He strode to his door, replaced since the incident, but still he stopped and hesitated at the frame. A habit he'd thought broken months ago.

"Men, you are dismissed for the night. You've earned yourselves a night away." The men, _boys really_ looked up with ill disguised hope of a night's worth of time free. Glancing at each other however, they hesitated. "Please, I would like to spend a night with my wife and could not in good spirits if I knew that you lot were back here slaving away whilst I lounged."

Often he would muse on the attitude of his men, they were so full of hope but at the same time hopeless. They carried out their tasks with an air of indifference that lacked passion.

Perhaps things would be different if Hami-

No. He did not allow himself to dwell on that man for longer than a second, for in the wake of his death George could not climb from the abyss he'd found himself in.

His gun had called to him then…

His men had cleared away before he came back to his senses.

Shaking his head George began his ascent to his and Martha's chambers, closing the office door behind him.

There was no lock.

* * *

 _George is tired, the kind of tired where you are acutely aware of the fact that you are tired and fight valiantly against it yet your eyes begin to slowly… droop… shut._

 _"Your Excellency!" The jerk of his hand almost has the inkwell over all of his missives._

 _Running his hands over his face and stifling a sigh he looks up at the young aide-de-camp standing before him, all excitement and hardly any patience._

 _"Yes, Hamilton?" He was in for a long night._

 _"Well, sir, it has come to my attention that…" A very long night then._

 _Alexander's face is illuminated only by the small candle on Washington's desk, casting an orange aura over the boy. He prattles on in his usual fashion, and George listens in his usual fashion, yet cannot help noticing the small things about this little hurricane in his office._

 _How his coat was a bit too large for him, and as a result ink stained the tip of his sleeve._

 _How his hair was unkept, in the fashion it would take from one of his nights of feverous writing._

 _His eyes are wild with passion still, but under them purpled dotted like a bruise._

 _It is time for the both of them to retire._

 _"What are your thoughts of the matter Your Excellency?" Alexander finally finishes, unaware that his speech was lost in George's musings. Washington stands, a fond look upon his face as he gives his obviously fake response._

 _"I shall mull the matter for a time before properly garnering a response I think, Officer. In the meantime shall we both get some rest? I think the world will still spin if we take a break for a few hours."_

 _He opens his mouth, to argue probably, yet before any sound comes Washington is talking over him._

 _"I shall have it no other way than for you to also retire, sir."_

 _"Your Excellency, really, I don't require-"_

 _"You are neither inhuman nor god, son. You are just as susceptible to harm and sickness."_

 _"Really… Father, you are prone to dramatics."_

 _George freezes._

 _That-Alexander just- He called him… No. It was just a mistake, he is more exhausted than first thought. For surely the proud young man before him would never willingly call him a father._

 _Yet the slip sends something warm through George, and he smiles lovingly at the aide._

 _"Be that as it may I shall not have you collapsed at my feet."_

 _Yet instead of the quiet assent George is expecting, Hamilton's voice comes hard and cruel._

 _"Really? From what you have done I would never have guessed so." Hamilton's back is turned to him, but he can see his expression in his mind's eye, the look of fury that must be there._

 _"Pardon?"_

 _"You claim to care for me yet I know it to be untrue. For why else would you kill me?"_

 _"Alexander you make little sense, what has gotten into you?"_

 _"You killed me George. Why didn't you protect me like you said you were going to? Why did you let them hurt me?" His voice sounds like a child now, a scared little child, frightened in the night._

 _"Alexander I would never let anyone harm you-"_

 _"You lie! You killed me! Taken from me a life of opportunity," at this he turns to face him, violently, jerkily, and the sight is enough to make George recoil, the horror welling up in his throat._

 _Alexander's eyes are haunted and sad, and his face is littered with tears and grime. The hair that was endearingly unkept now looks ragged and mad, he looks lost._

 _George rushes to him, wanting to make everything okay again, wanting to hold him and console him-make the world safe and sound, end the war, everything._

 _But as he reaches him Alexander lets out a pained gasp and begins to cry in earnest._

 _"Why didn't you protect me?" He whispers, defeat weighing his whole body down, he grasps onto the shirt sleeve of the commanding officer, the majority of his weight there. "George… Father - why did you kill me?"_

 _"Kill you? Alexander I could never-" His sentence becomes cut off by the seeping realization that he can feel something warm against his hand._

 _Slowly, so that it feels more like an eternity than a few seconds, he looks down and finds a dagger buried in his boy, and there, clear as day, his own hand the master of that dagger._

 _Horror fill_ s _him wholly now, and he gasps, lurching away from his supposed victim. Blood drips from the wound, Alexander is covered in it, George can feel it as a coating on his hands, yet he cannot find it in him to move._

 _With no one to secure him Alexander falls heavily to the floor, crying out as he hits the wood. One gasp, two, floundering for help, his mouth filling with blood as he makes horrible choking noises, and Alexander goes limp._

 _How Washington tries to reach him, but he remains paralyzed. He watches his son die. Then at last, he is released._

 _Dead eyes meet his own. Blood is running down his chin. His eyes are accusing. Washington is shouting, rocking back and forth with the body cradled against his chin._

 _The bloodstain is no figment of a dream_.

* * *

George's entire body woke in a convulsion, gasping for breath as if he'd been drowned.

Nausea filled him and sent him tipping over the edge of the bed, desperately grasping for something to carry the bile raising in his throat.

A slender hand wrapped around his shoulder, as his wife began whispering soothing assurances against his back.

"I'm sorry Martha, one can never tell with the food they serve around here, so few and far in between…"

"George. You don't have to do that here, not with me." Taking his hands in her own Martha led her husband to their bed, tenderly trying to coax his emotions out of hiding. "Just because you don't want to feel the pain doesn't mean it isn't there."

"Martha, I'm fine. There is no time to-"

"Mourn your son?"

The shutters slammed shut behind his eyes, and Washington tore away from his wife and settled for gazing out the window.

 _"I'm not your son."_

"He wasn't my son."

"What does his sire have anything to do with how you felt about him?"

"He didn't want me as a father."

"You know that that's not true."

"Enough Martha, he is missed." Washington's voice was stern and commanding, but that never really deterred her. She stood and went to her husband, forcing him to face her.

"I cannot both be a wife and a subordinate; not right now. You can't keep pretending that it hasn't affected you."

"Well, of course it's affected me, he was well known by everyone, and worked under me for some time."

"Why must you lie?"

"Know your place."

Hurt shone for a moment in her eyes before she found her resolve and continued. "My place is as your wife, I was under the illusion that that meant something more than-"

"I know - I'm sorry, it is I that should find myself."

"You won't even say his name, if you were so crass you'd at least _say his name._ "

"What does it matter if I speak not of him! He's gone, my moment of grief spent, and he shall not be brought up again. Office Hamilton died too young and too soon but-"

"Was he Officer Hamilton or Alexander? I too held affection for him, and have cried my tears for him, come to terms that he's gone, and I didn't do that by rejecting the affection I held for him. For God's sake George, you have to grieve-!"

"I grieve him everyday!"

She jumped less at the volume of his voice, and more at the pure emotion behind it. His form hunches but she was already there, leading him back to the bed, putting her arms around him as they sat in silence until he finally spoke once more.

George was in a battle for his emotions and he was losing. He could feel a sob sticking to his throat along with the tears he felt prickling at the corners of his eyes; he was a right bumbling fool, wasn't he?

"Everyday I expect him to be waiting for me, and everyday he isn't and I thought it would stop hurting." The power behind his voice was gone. "Why…" But he couldn't finish his sentence; he had so many questions that began with the same word.

Why does it still hurt?

Why Alexander?

Why did he have to die?

Why didn't he tell him before that he was _so, so, loved?_

Instead, George Washington, future leader of the free world, broke down against his wife's chest.

"Shh, I know. There's a grief that can't be spoken, moments where the words don't quite reach, just feel them, and know that they are just as important as the love you felt."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, after Patsy and he wasn't even…"

"Shh, no, it's okay. You loved Patsy as much as I, I know that. Grieving this young man will not replace the love you felt for her, she is a loving memory in both of our hearts; but I can tell that still the very mention of Alexander sends you great pain. If you must grieve him more deeply then that's okay, you helped me through Patsy and I intend to help you through this."

"I did not want to seem as if I was uncaring…" His words still shook with emotion, though he tried to hide it. Perhaps the cruelest gift of all were children; they grew from something that was loved and cherished into something that was lost.

"Darling, I know you too well to ever assume that you did not love those children with all of your heart."

"I never told him… I was going to, but he was cross with me… and then… I- it seemed like all I did was turn my back and he was gone. He never knew…"

"Alexander knew, in his own wonderful, enigmatic, Alexander way he knew. And he adored you, you were one of the only people who he felt so strongly for."

"I couldn't protect him; I'm sorry… I'm so sorry Alexander." Washington continued to sob, and he felt as if he were grieving a wound both new and ancient.

Washington found that now he had begun there was no stopping the flood of emotions that seemed to pour from him. He could physically feel his grief, just as he did the night it happened, could feel the hole left in his heart. He'd screamed his grief that night, now all he could do was whisper.

And how he had dishonoured Alexander by trying to forget him! That is what Alexander feared the most, being lost by time, with no one to carry his legacy. What had George done as soon as he was gone? Forgotten that very legacy.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

Martha stayed silent through his babbling, knowing that it was not to her that he spoke.

"I loved you so much, and I wish I hadn't been so cowardly as to admit it. I can only hope that you know, now, and that on the other side we may meet again, and I will tell you then, and I will never let you go again. I should never have left, I should have stayed with you… Told you then how much you meant to me, even though you were cross with me."

A wet chuckle escaped then. When was Alexander _not_ angry with him?

Shakily George drew himself away from Martha, kissing her hand gratefully with tears still brimming his eyes. Martha, seeing this, stood. She gave her husband a tender kiss against the side of his mouth, her hands cupping his face.

"I shouldn't have left him there, I was supposed to protect him. I let him be killed…"

"Stop it. You didn't. That man did, and there was nothing that could have been done to prevent Alexander's death thereafter. He died loving you George, you must remember that."

"…Does it ever stop hurting?"

"No, I cannot lie and tell you that it does, but it gets better. It becomes less acute with time, but you cannot pretend it isn't there."

"I love you."

She smiled against him. "I know. I love you too. Come, let's to sleep once more, you are the leader of the Continental Army after all."

George relented, suddenly feeling utterly spent, his tears run dry. Yet there was something new in him now, something that ached with familiarity and soothed with pain. It demanded to be felt and this time George knew he would not, could not, repress it.

With such thoughts in his head George Washington closed his eyes, ready to continue being who his men needed him to be, in the morning. There would be no more erasing Alexander from his mind.

He could be strong. He could continue to love and grieve his son.

He just didn't know if he could do both at the same time.

* * *

They'd won. By some blessed mercies _they'd won._

Surreal as it was George still had the sense in him to begin ordering his affairs for the weeks to come. Now however, he nursed a whiskey.

But they'd _won_.

The colonies, no, a _country_ , free at last.

He'd hoped, of course, and believed, had faith in, and god dammit he'd tried to remind himself that this day would come, but as the war had waged he'd doubted that it could.

Now that it was here, well George thought he'd be… happier.

A door opened behind him, grinning softly he didn't turn, sure that it was one of his aides.

"Shouldn't you be out with the others? A celebration such as the ones raged tonight will be sorrily missed I'm sure. I'm sure Lafayette is already off somewhere doing God know's what."

"I don't know… The company of the soon-to-be leader of the free world seems like company enough for me."

The glass dropped. Shatters.

George forgets to breathe.

Standing there, but a few feet away, was young Officer Hamilton.

Alexander was smiling at him, that knowing edge in his eye. He stood looking no more like an apparition than George did, still had a willingness to fight, still had that hunger.

His hair was still tied back in a mussed ponytail, he even had ink staining the sleeve of his oversized coat. Every single aspect of him was perfect, he stood, alive and well, and for a moment George was sure his death had been some horrible nightmare.

Then the moment ended.

Alexander lurches at George, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his head into the crook his neck.

"Pa, you did it! I knew you could. I lived for this moment you know, I just had to be here. Of course, there were times when your aides were just positively atrocious, really, what possessed them to- well never mind, I'm rambling aren't I?"

Hamilton released his neck, still grinning from ear to ear but George grabbed his arms before he could completely disentangle himself.

"Alexander… how… I-I don't-"

"I don't actually have a lot of time, Father. Does that seem strange to you? Father. I never called you that while I lived, but that is what you were. Now it seems silly of me to say anything but."

Still awe struck George could do little else but cup his son's cheek, unsure if he was a mere hallucination or not.

"The schematics of it all are of little importance. I've come to say what I never said before, what I was too scared too voice." His own hands came to cup George's, his expression full of warmth and unrestrained affection.

"I loved you so much Pa, I still do! And I never left, not once. It won't be easy, but don't cry for me. The truth is I shall not leave you, though make it harder for you to see me, yes, but I was there, always."

Warm tears fell against George's cheeks, which Alexander quickly wiped away.

"Don't cry, please. I didn't want to go but sometimes one must. Just as I do not want to leave now, but must."

"No!" Washington's voice comes as a strangled sob, as he was completely unconcerned with his usual check on emotions. "Please don't go, I can't lose you again. I never got to tell you-"

"Then tell me now but don't despair… This is a happy occasion."

"I'm so sorry, I'm so, so, sorry, I should have-"

"I know you hate interruptions Your Excellency, but really, I don't need unfounded apologies from a blameless man. You did all you could, and I would never, ever, blame you for what happened."

"I know. But I cannot help but feel that if I had just done _more_ , then you might be here to see this. You could have aided me, made a legacy the way you'd always wanted to…"

"You and the others gave me so much more. You gave me a family, that is so much more than a legacy. Now I really must go; John will be needing me soon. My mother greeted me - I'll greet you too, don't worry. It was a true honour serving you sir, one that I cherish deeply. Because I knew you, I have been changed for good."

He gave his father a small squeeze and smile, before turning away and starting for the door. With his back exposed George could see a large bloodstain tainting the blue coat, a reminder of what this was.

"Alexander wait!"

The boy halted, and turned towards George. Pure, unadulterated trust and love shone in his eyes. It was all George had ever wanted; it almost made his next words stick in his throat.

"I love you."

Alexander smiled, and tipped his head.

"I'll see you on the other side, General Washington." The title was said with adoration and love, not at all how Alexander used to utter it.

With a final salute, Hamilton walked through the doors, and George was left feeling like something had been stolen from him.

A sob ripped its way through Washington's throat, the absence of Alexander suddenly felt so much more than it had been. The boy, there and in the flesh, all of sudden departed once more, it ripped away at the stitches against George's heart.

A keening kind of wail ripped away as he stumbled against his desk, no longer able to hold his own weight up, the glass crunched under the sole of his boot, unheeded, in the wake of the consuming grief and rage overcoming the man.

For the first time since he'd lost Alexander, George's gun looked appealing.

* * *

 **A.N: Okay, that's the sequel I suppose. It's not the best but I figured I may as well publish it. Thank you all very much for reading this, and I hope I'll hear your thoughts in a review! Don't be shy to leave a suggestion either. ;)**

 **I have left four references to other musicals in this chapter. They're a bit obscure and I do not believe anyone will be able to find them all, _but_ , if you do then you can give me the prompt for the next story in this fandom. I will write whatever you give me as long as it is nothing that makes me uncomfortable to write (smut). **

**Lots of love from the writer, stay awesome my lovelies!**


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